What If?
by Ash Engel
Summary: Destiel: Prompted by Safety Suit's "What If" Set in a loose S4 world, Dean & Sam are having a tiff and the only company he's got is Cas. Until, of course, Cas confesses. Now they're both struggling with a confession that might just shatter their bond.
1. Figure It Out

**A/N:** Don't own anything but the plot to this, and even then only loosely.

Inspired by a song prompt on my tumblr. Safety Suit's "What If".

Set in a loose Season 4 world, where everything after is made up and the points don't matter.

Current chapters are T, but there might be some M in the future?

* * *

"Ok, what has been with you lately?"

Dean threw the Impala into park in the middle of the road. They were in Bumfuck Nowhere, likely in Oregon though he wasn't too sure. They hadn't seen a road sign in miles. All he'd see was dirt road, dirt road, and a very quiet angel in the passenger's seat.

He and Sam had had yet another argument, leading to yet another "Winchester Breakup" and now Cas was the Tonto to Dean's Lone Ranger. The only problem (among all the many other non Castiel-related ones) was that his only company and source for conversation was dead silent.

Which wasn't too unusual. Cas wasn't exactly a chatterbox. On the sparse few times they'd been alone together before he normally just sat there with that unreadable look on his face, staring out the window or at Dean as they coasted through cities, towns, and stretches of nothing like the current.

But for some reason he could tell a different today. There was a fine line between angel-quiet and upset-quiet, and they'd passed it several days ago. Dean hadn't said anything at first. Between the looming Armageddon, Sam's apparent taste for demon blood, and -oh yeah- _the freaking Armageddon_, he hadn't wanted to add Cas' personal problems to his list of things to fix.

But now it was just getting on his damn nerves and there was no way around it.

He could have asked, like a normal person. But Cas didn't hang around him for a sense of normalcy.

The suited man straighten as the car halted, looking alert and half alarmed until Dean spoke. Then whatever was ticking away in that weird alien mind of his faded back behind a hard to read stare and neutral expression.

Dean grimaced briefly before going as far as to turn the car all the way off and hold the keys in his lap.

"Seriously, Cas." He pushed, almost crossing his arms before deciding it would seem far too girly a motion. Instead he settled for the crook of one eyebrow and the bitter twist of his lips downwards.

Castiel looked clueless as he allowed blue eyes to search Dean's own, then everything slowly down from the set of his lips and jaw to his tense shoulders and-

He stopped at the hips before quickly going back to the eyes.

"I don't know what you're-" he got out before Dean rolled his eyes and cut him off.

"Come on." The hunter protested, shifting to put both hands on the relatively useless steering wheel. They weren't going anywhere until Cas talked about whatever was up his ass, but having nowhere to stand or move made Dean anxious. So he settled for shifting his hands and feet around awkwardly, falling back to his face to convey his irritation with the other.

"You've been acting funny for days. What's up?"

Briefly Castiel was flattered. Dean, a human, caring about his own matters?

It was likely only due to a sense of work. If he was distracted he would make a poor fighter.

But still.. He liked to think somewhere in the case of impossible determination and one-track thinking, Dean cared about him. Of course, that was exactly the problem he wanted to know about, wasn't it?

Dean didn't care. But Cas did.

_A lot._

"I don't think anything about my actions have been humorous, Dean." Cas dodged. He hoped the other would assume his obliviousness to get be some form of naivete. Not an actual, artful dodge of the topic. He didn't like doing it. It was too close to lying for his taste. But out of the man things Dean had taught him, lying or avoiding the truth for certain purposes was acceptable. This was one of the rare few times the angel would indulge. Even so, he couldn't shake the idea of his brothers and sisters chastising him for it in the back of his mind. Realistically however, they would be upset with him for far more than an almost-lie.

Dean was shaking his head as Cas fought with the facts and fantasies of his siblings knowing too much. The damn angel was always like that, and Dean was never sure if he was honestly that dim, or just that careful. Either way, they were gonna talk about it come hell or high water. The nipping reminder that Hell was more likely made his restlessness increase.

"You know what I mean, Cas." Even if he didn't, Dean would try to assume more of him. As always.

"You've barely spoken, ya hardly look at me or pay attention when I'm talking about a job.."

He was watching the angel carefully as he spoke, looking for any sign to give away what was wrong. But Castiel was a wall, as per usual. He had no idea the issue wasn't with lack of attention, but the abundance of it.

He would stare too long at Dean going after a monster, or over-analyze certain words until he was dizzy. Castiel listened too closely, saw too much, and wanted more than an angel of the lord should.

"Even now, you look distracted. If there's somewhere else you wanna be.."

Dean shrugged, trying to act like he didn't care if the other straight up split.

Honestly, he'd be miserable. Lonely. Freaked out, cause his job was not one done solo easily.

But like hell he'd say that. Instead he played it off, like Cas' presence didn't mean anything.

That was what stuck with the ruffled angel as he watched Dean, trying to understand if that was his subtle way of saying 'get lost'.

"I.." He paused, looking Dean over. Trying to find some sign of how he felt.

"I can go.. If you'd like..?"

Dean didn't say anything. He stared, trying to find a crack in Cas' face or eyes. A hint he wanted to stay. Anything he could use instead of admitting he wanted the other around.

All that came out after an awkward silence however was a frustrated sigh and a shrug. He lifted one hand, heavily hitting the steering wheel with it before facing away.

"If you're gonna act like there's somewhere else you gotta be, then-"

But that was as far as he got before the other was gone.

At least to him, Cas was gone.

Dean started the car back up, and spent a brief moment gripping the wheel tight before slamming his baby a little too forcefully into drive and flooring the gas.

Castiel stayed, invisible and silent, in the passenger's seat.

Sometimes Dean didn't want him around, and he left.

Other times he just faded away, out of sight and mind but still close by.

What if Dean needed him? That was how he justified his irrational want to be by the other.

Some half of him, a stronger, bolder half understood what it was.

He loved Dean. Greater than his love for his siblings, or his father. He loved the brash, clumsy hunter with all of his vessel's physical heart, and his own form's.. energy. There was no better comparison.

But he couldn't dare admit it openly. Not to Dean, or himself.

He didn't want to acknowledge the way he looked at the younger man when he was facing away. Cas didn't want to dwell on how he hung off the other's words, and would drop everything in the blink of an eye if Dean so much as whispered for him. Which happened a lot, mostly in his sleep.

Dean whispered many names, of fears and past lovers and his family. Cas wasn't sure what category he fit into, but he knew he liked the sound of his name coming from the other.

He liked all of Dean, far too much to be right.

He couldn't stop it. So he pushed it down, like Dean did. Another human lesson, not that he wanted to be one. But they had useful skills, like shoving emotions aside for work. Once upon a time he'd been able to do the same, up until a certain Winchester needed to be pulled from hell.

When Dean finally found a main road and got on track, Castiel left for a short time. He still had work to do, trying to find God. Dean was never that interested in the task. He was more obsessed in finding the Colt or any other leads. So their paths mostly only intertwined when Dean needed help, or Castiel was simply lonely. At first, he hadn't understood the sensation. All he knew was that Dean cured it.

But he'd figured it out on his own, and the knowledge unsettled him.

Dean was the only one who really spoke to him anymore, aside from Bobby and Sam. Sometimes he spoke to them, but not nearly as often as the other. Which he wasn't complaining about.

Their time apart was brief. One month, roughly. Cas found that short, though Dean obviously didn't when he popped back in only to be greeted with a startled hunter and a, "Stop freakin' doing that. And where the hell have you been?".

He frowned for half a second before glancing away, eastward.

"I was looking for God." he reminded the other.

"Oh yeah, how's that going for you?" Dean bit sarcastically while returning to what he'd been doing upon Castiel's arrival: loading guns. He must have gone on a hunt lately, the angel assumed, as most of his weapons seemed empty.

Momentarily he thought about helping, but thought better of it. Guns were not his specialty.

"I have not found anything, yet."

Slowly he moved, trying to find his place in the room. It was always the hardest part of popping in on Dean. He didn't want to move too close, or too far. He didn't feel right just sitting down, but he'd been told once before by a woman that standing and talking to people who were sitting was rude.

So he looked around, sizing the small single bed up before glancing back at Dean, sitting at the small rickety desk covered in guns and bullets and tools Cas didn't understand. He was focusing on loading one, saying nothing and not looking interested at all.

He debated leaving again, but that wouldn't solve anything.

So what was he supposed to do?

"Have you found anything on the Colt?"

Dean sighed. Castiel tried not to flinch at the realization that that was a bad question to ask.

If Dean had found it, he would have said so by now. Instead all the other did was set the gun he was loading down and turn slowly.

"Yes, Cas. I found the Colt, didn't tell you, and have been sitting on my ass not shooting the devil cause- Hey! It's not like the world is ending or anything, I got time!"

He threw his hands up briefly them slapped them onto his legs.

Cas grimaced.

"You're upset." He stated flatly.

Their situation was, without doubt, stressful. But Dean's constant attitude, his urge to push at every pull and fight every bump always made things so much more difficult.

His constant snapping and attitude were doing nothing for Castiel's tired nerves from time spent searching to no avail. But Dean didn't care about that. Dean care about Dean.

"I understand this, but-"

Dean stood. Stepped closer, but still out of arm's reach, before snapping.

"No, I don't think you do, Cas. Sam's out there trying to tango with the devil while I'm here with no colt, no plan, and no back up. It's great that you're trying to sort out your daddy issues, but we really don't have time for your wild goose chase right now!"

Something very, very small snapped.

Maybe it was patience. Maybe it was just everything, the feelings and secrets and half-lies, crushing him. But something broke in Castiel and it took his small remainder of restraint with it.

Thus, almost without thinking, he grabbed the other by the collar and nearly threw him into the wall.

The angel kept hold of Dean's shirt and jacket collar as he pressed his arms into the hunter's chest, pushing but not crushing. Even when mad he had self-control, unlike some people.

"Don't take that tone with me, Dean." Castiel warned. "I fell. From heaven. For you." His words lowered into a growl with every word. He wasn't bitter about his exiled status. Or at least, he tried not to be. But Dean's impossible attitude.. Just made it _so damn hard sometimes_..

"I know the things going on over your head. I know more than anyone the precedence of this issue. Don't act like you're the only one upset over things right now."

Just like that, he backed off. He let got, stepped back, and in one fell swoop was gone.

Dean just stood, dumbstruck, staring at the place Cas had been.

This time there was no invisible guardian in the room. Dead was alone, left to slowly move back to the desk, only to stare at one gun before growling and throwing himself onto his feet and towards the bed.

Castiel stood among the rolling hills, staring out at the wash of blues and white and purples.

The flowers were in full bloom, smiling up at him and trying desperately to remind him how beautiful the world was. His father had painted it all, and sometimes the only way he felt close to God was to be close to his creations.

So he stood, staring at the flowers. Counting them.

He'd seen girls before, plucking the petals off. Saying "he loves me, he loves me not" over and over until the petals ran out. Personally, he'd never understood it. Why did they decide love by destroying something as beautiful as a flower? It was tragic and somewhat cruel in his eyes, especially when they could so easily spare the flowers and simply ask the one they cared for.

Whenever he had such a thought on his mind (which was to say, only just recently, and only lately now that he was trying to come to terms with it) he counted the flowers instead.

All of them rolling down the hills of the European outskirts, far from people and their chatter and odd habits and words and a thousand other things Castiel just didn't understand.

He didn't understand girls and their flowers.

He didn't understand Dean and his temper, or the way it made him act in return.

Mostly, he decided as a small wind blew through the bottom of the hills, he just didn't understand what was wrong with him.

Exactly what Dean had wanted to know.

He still didn't have a good answer.

Cas hadn't been back in three months.

Dean had prayed, once. It was more like pissed off ranting as he asked Cas where the hell he was and why he hadn't helped out when Dean had taken a particularly angry witch's knife to the leg. He'd bled everywhere, had to stitch it up on the fly after killing the bitch, and had then been reduced to limping to the impala, getting blood all over the seats, and driving to a clinic since it wasn't a wound he could tend to all by himself.

All of that, and not a hide or hair of Cas.

Dean was even more pent up and furious than he had been last time.

Of course, remembering their last meeting brought chills. He didn't like Cas when he decided to grow a spine and show it off. Normally he was just subtle. In the background.

But every now and then he flared, like some invisible wings spread and anyone in the room couldn't help but be shadowed by them.

Normally those moments were nice. Funny, or bitchin depending on if there was some pain in the ass demon to deal with.

But when it was directed at him.. Dean grimaced lightly as he drug the towel over his head through his hair a few more times, trying to shake the remaining water free.

His jeans were falling off his hips since he had been skipping meals lately, hoping anxiously from one job to the next. He hadn't been sleeping well either, worried about Sam (who wasn't answering his phone) the devil, Cas, and the rest of the fucking world that was on the line.

Giving up on drying off before fully dressing, he tossed the towel to the floor, buttoned up his jeans, and grabbed a shirt out of the suitcase by his bed. He hadn't even bothered to unpack this time, just leaving the suitcase open for the two days it had taken him to find the ghost and salt/burn it's bones.

It was nice, to go back to what felt like the start. The good old days, hunting with his dad, or Sam.

At least he called them that.

Honestly? He couldn't remember the last "good old day" he'd had. There was always something hanging over his head, something wrong with someone, or _fucking somethin_g going wrong to ruin any potential happiness.

Dean had snippets. Good days, or moments, or meals.

He looked back on them as best he could, but seeing the dark stains eating every other part of his life stole a bit of the mirth out of the recollections.

Weighed down by exhaustion he threw himself back onto his bed, only to be greeted by a certain trench coat in the corner of his eye, barely a few inches from his face.

Dean yelped and jerked up, unsettled enough by the still bouncing bed that his launch upwards landed him too high, until he met ground and slammed into the wall barely two feet from the opposite side of the bed.

"Dammit, Cas!" He shouted, though it lacked the normal level of irritation.

He was relieved. Cas was right in front of him, looking fine, which was one less weight on his shoulders. Only 7 billion more to go.

The messy angel only nodded his usual silent apology, then took to looking all over the room.

He didn't pop in without reason though, so Dean assumed he was looking for something and waited for him to find it. When he didn't after several awkwardly long seconds, the hunter shrugged slightly, opening both hands and palms up as if Cas expected the item to magically appear by staring at the floor.

"What the hell? You're AWOL for three whole months and you can't even say hi?"

"Hello Dean." Cas grunted, though it seemed more out of obligation than anything.

Dean just gave the other a dull stare.

"Yeah. Hi."

"You should sit down." Cas motioned to the bed.

Dean rose one eyebrow, then crossed his arms and got more comfortable leaning on the wall.

"What's wrong?"

Cause it was never 'what's up'. Something was always wrong and in need of fixing.

Castiel waited, but Dean didn't move. After a long moment he cleared his throat unevenly, shifted his weight from foot to foot, and took to staring at one place on the ground.

"I care about you, Dean."

The silence was painfully long.

Dean looked around, then at Cas, then around again.

Finally, confused and half-concerned, he nodded.

"Yeahh.. I.." It sounded so girly put that way. "I care about you to, man."

In a totally-just-bros, completely heterosexual way, of course.

Anything more would just be.. _weird_.

"No, Dean." Cas sighed, suddenly sounding immensely frustrated.

"I mean.. I..." He struggled for a moment, hands fisting and loosening at his sides repeatedly.

"I mean I.. _care_ about you. Deeply."

He dared to glance up. Dean still looked confused.

Cas swallowed, gathered himself, and pulled every string of courage he had. Every ounce of the courageous, fearless soldier of God he had in himself collected as he straightened, looking at the Winchester with an expression he hoped was confident. Serious. Obvious.

"_I love you, Dean."_


	2. Forward

Dean should have sat down.

As Castiel's words faded into a memory in the air, Dean just stood there staring with both eyebrows arching up high on his face. His lips pursed slightly as his hands tightened around opposing arms, and no one said a word. They barely breathed.

Castiel's heart was racing, even as he looked away from the hunter to ease it.

His pulse pounded in his head and his hands didn't want to stay still. He balled them up, feeling nails slide over the sweaty insides of his palms before relaxing again and wishing that Dean would speak.

He knew this was a bad idea, but not saying anything at all.. He couldn't do it. Not forever.

Dean had a right to know what was going on, and honestly Cas just didn't want to be alone with his struggling love for the other any longer.

So he waited, staring at the floor and feeling the hair on the back of his neck prickle at the thought of some invisible guillotine hung over his head.

Finally, after the air was thick and stale and things were getting to the point that saying anything at all was beginning to be more awkward than the silence, Dean spoke.

"I don't suppose that's some kind of.. angel of the lord, god loves his children kind of meaning?" He said, half hesitant and half something Cas couldn't pinpoint. He dared to glance up to try and understand the waver in the Winchester's tone, but he was moving away, scooting to face his back to Cas before sitting down slowly.

Castiel couldn't speak.

Now was his chance, likely his last one, to take it back. To claim it was indeed just some "angel thing" and that his love was purely platonic and guarding. Not what it really was, which was selfish and a dash carnal and all-too-unholy.

Carefully he swallowed, balled his hands up again, then shook his head.

He wasn't a coward, or a liar. He meant what he said, just how he said it.

Dean deserved the truth.

Things were quiet for a long while yet again.

The hunter hadn't moved, and hadn't looked at Cas' movement, but he'd grabbed enough from the corner of his sight to know that no, it wasn't a figure or speech. It was painfully literal, and suddenly the only company he'd wanted for weeks felt uneasy.

Cas.. loved him.

Like.. _loved_ him.

He didn't know what to do with that kind of information.

He was straight, for one, which make returning the feelings impossible. But Cas was an angel, genderless by technicality, so he could just get a female vessel..

But why even debate that if he wasn't interested? He liked Cas. As a friend, and a brother.

He was there when no one else was. He had faith in Dean when no one else did, and he'd thrown himself into literal hell just to drag Dean out.

Reminders of the pit and his own sins brought a sickening chill to his bones.

But it was easily ignored in lieu of the unbearably awkward situation.

Uneasily Dean looked away, opposite Cas, to a spot on the wall where the wallpaper was peeling.

Saying what Cas had said took guts. And vulnerability.

He didn't want to talk about his feelings (or lack thereof) but he also didn't want to offend the only friend he'd ever really held on to for more than a few days.

Unlike his past flings, Cas wasn't a passing amusement. Unlike Ellen and Joe, Cas was nearby and available and something about him was just.. safer than them.

It was an odd but obvious bond he cared about, but couldn't -wouldn't- define.

"Cas.. I.." Dean moved to stare at his hands, coiled in his lap and squirming slightly to fiddle his fingers around one another. He wasn't an articulate guy. But he needed precision to not fuck this up..

"I care about you. You're family to me, you know that." He couldn't bring himself to look at the angel, who stood silently by his side. Just like always.

"But I don't.. I don't think I..." Dean sighed roughly and slapped both hands onto his face before dragging down. This was why he never spoke from the heart. This chick-flick shit was so difficult.

"I just don't know.. What to say to that." He grunted. Green eyes dared to scrape over the bed's ruffled sheets, to the mixture of tan and black and blue where Cas was staring at him with that eerie gaze that went straight through him, peering into some invisible part of him for angel-eyes-only.

When neither of them said anything Dean was the first to look away.

Cas' head dropped shortly after in some broken looking nod.

"I see." He said quietly, with a tone Dean wanted to consider interested, like when he was learning about something foreign. But it was lighter than that. Shaky, almost.

He was trying to sound like this was some educational moment, but Dean could already tell what was behind that. For once Castiel was transparent, and behind the surface splayed out clearly was hurt.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but the angel rose one hand and shook his head.

"Don't, Dean." He said while carefully looking at anything but the hunter.

"I was too forward. I apologize."

And he was gone. Just like that.

Just like every other goddamn time that left Dean feeling miserable and alone and half-afraid.

Because everyone left, and Cas always left in half a second with no time to react. And even if he always came back, the sudden disappearances always brought the cold idea of death into Dean's mind.

Cause people didn't die slow like in the movies, with tons of time to say goodbye.

One minute they were there, and in the next second the light was burnt out of their eyes and their heart was dead and all he had left was cold limp nothing to grasp at.

Dean stared at the empty spot on the floor for several long minutes before leaning back onto the bed and shutting his eyes. The world was ending. He needed to do something. But all he could manage to do was lay there and feel the earth turning under him, and wonder how much time he had before one day it wasn't there, and he was just left to fall.

_Back into the pit._


	3. Hallelujah

A/N: Don't own the characters or setting.

I realize a lot of people won't like this, just because most of it is my interpretation. I laid out my own musings of what Hell may look like to angels/demons, and the same of angels in their true form. Personally, I always thought it odd when they showed the angels in Heaven as vessels. I understand this was for storytelling purposes, but still.. This is simply how I feel angels may be when not in a vessel. And, for the record, I'm just assuming Dean can look upon his true form (compacted version) because he's got fresh Cas-Grace in him, and I guess that helps.

_I don't know it's all mushy sad!romantic bullshit, leave me to my sobs._

* * *

The Suicide Building was a place in downtown Manhattan that had gained it's name from a long history of people who had jumped from it's roof, killing themselves in the alleyway below.

Once upon a time it had been everything from a apartment building to a corporation headquarters, but now it stood empty and abandoned. It had been condemned for years, though no one had bothered to demolish it. Now it was no more than a shadowed monument to humanity's darker side.

It's insides crawled with tweakers and squatters like termites in rotting wood. It's tall and thin stature was a decaying eyesore in the rundown street, and the grim of the alleyways was commonly joked about being mostly dried blood and guts no one cared to clean.

It was here, perched on one corner of the roof that Castiel thought about everything.

His purpose. God. Dean, which was a slew of thoughts that began with the human's attitude, life, drive, and all the things Cas both loved and hated about him, and ended with the angel's sudden confession and the hunter's refusal.

He sighed and shut his eyes. Angels didn't sleep, but for just once he wished he could.

He wanted to shut his eyes and drift off into some lackadaisical dream where the world wasn't hanging by a thread. In that world, he would have liked it if Heaven wasn't pushing for the end of the world. God would still be on his throne, the archangels would be at peace with one another, and Cas would be able to sit in Heaven and look down, watching Dean and Sam grow up in a happy, kind world without demons and pain and dead mothers.

Of course, a world like that would mean they would never meet.

He would never pull Dean from Hell, and all the lovely memories Dean couldn't recall would never have taken place.

Castiel's shoulders sagged at the recollections. Things Dean would never know..

Things that had his love for the hunter bracing with determination every time a threat to their bond arose in his eyes.

Exhaustion infected every pore of his vessel, and slowly the angel sat back, legs falling over the hump of an edge to the crumbling roof. Blue eyes fluttered shut and stayed sealed as arms laid over his chest.

He wouldn't really sleep. Not in any human sense.

But just for a while, he would remember. And those memories, however difficult and scarring, would be his fantasy.

His own Heaven, within Hell.

* * *

Dean was screaming, raw and raked and frightened.

Or rather, his soul was.

Castiel could hear it the moment he set foot into the flames of Hell.

Demons crawled through the abyss, dragging their vile bellies over the obsidian and hot coals that piled in pillars and caverns. Chains streaked across the sky, barring him from flying for any distance worthwhile.

He was forced to walk, feet searing the unholy ground.

Somewhere deep beneath him he felt a rumble and a growl.

His soul shook, though his head stayed high. Lucifer was down there, somewhere.

Growling and churning like some wild animal at bay. He knew there was someone in his kingdom and reveled at the thought of plucking the angel's tender wings away.

But today would not be a day for the devil.

Castiel did not waste time as his body flashed through the cracks and smoking depths of Hell. When he could not run across the searing ground he flew, dipping and diving through chains.

He was caught only once, struggling against the burning agony of the chains that bound his wings, entwining into the white feathers and scorching the very energy of his being beneath them.

He cried out only once.

Then, he fell.

And what a terrifying sensation it was for him, an angel.

Blue eyes shut in terror as he tumbled, pulling his wings against himself as tightly as they would comply. It felt like his body would endlessly tumble before he twisted just enough to find a loose wrap in the chains.

As simply as he had been trapped he fought, pushing against the binds before one link cracked.

Another snapped, and two more loosened. The coils fell loose just in time to clatter to the fiery ground.

Wings flourished out to his sides and with a powerful, righteous burst of air and faith he was gone, up in the air free of the burning, bubbling pit that rested between blackened mountains of bones and blood.

Hell was indescribable.

Mountains of rock and jagged gems flashed at every corner. Gold and silver and beautiful jewels littered the ground, tempting men who fell to them, only to be swallowed by the molten lava that poured between the basins of the towering abominations.

Sin ran rampant, dancing in the form of endless food, sex, and money. All around people lavished the unending vices before demons would interrupt, pulling them away kicking and screaming to more blood and laughter.

Humor was joined seamlessly by pain.

Blood and bone ran in rivers all over, pouring from the impossible to see ceiling of the dark world.

Where one woman would shriek in nothing short of indescribable agony, another tone would cackle gleefully with more pride and amusement in it's tone than any human would ever know.

And down, deep down near the center of Hell was Dean Winchester.

Castiel landed, bruised and scarred and burnt, and stared up into the reddened sky. There was no real sky or clouds or sun in sight. Just a maroon background that stretched eternally, giving hope that maybe something was out there while torturing it's onlookers with the chains that riddle it's expanse, reminding them that even if escape was out there somewhere, they could not ever reach it.

A scream pierced the strangling hot air.

Castiel stared up at the half-limp body, barely held together, wrapped in chains and hooks.

He could see every part of Dean, inside and out.

His soul was a dead spark resting in the empty cavern of his chest. What had once been a human body was in shards, a perfect representation of his soul.

Most of it was missing. Fallen away to the depths that hung beneath him.

Mostly all that was left was his torso, which exposed bones and organs and so much of the man that even the angel sent to save him had to glance away for a small moment.

To endure so much and still exist in some fashion..

When he looked back, he focused on the dead light in Dean's chest.

It glowed like a freshly extinguished candle wick, still hot but smoking helplessly.

Today was the beginning of the cycle.

Dean would begin his moment terrified and suffering, hanging in pain and waiting for Alistair.

The demon would arrive, and always offer the same deal.

To Dean, it may have seemed to only happen once. But Castiel knew better.

Demons were sicker than that. They offered their charges a chance to decline every day, so that any cling to morality could be destroyed with reminders that every day they had a chance to turn away from tainted salvation.

_'Torture others, and you will be set free'_ they would offer.

And every day Dean, like he had so many times before, would desperately accept.

He would lose some piece of his soul in order to eek by in Hell, slowly taking joy from someone else's suffering. He was twisting, turning from one of the many screams of hell into the equally abundant laughs.

But today was the end of that.

Castiel's jaw set as he looked around, spying for any trace of Alistair or his dogs.

No one was coming for Dean but God's soldier.

Angrily, the angel's face twisted with conviction.

He could feel the ground buckle, another rumbling noise of disgust from Lucifer.

"You have no say." he mumbled to himself as towering wings unfurled to their full extent, reaching out and beating once, blowing fragments of jewel and black stone into the reddened air.

"The boy is mine."

And with that, he was in the air. He raced towards Dean, through the chains, barely missing most of them as another rumble broke through Hell.

Chains snapped as arms wrapped around the remaining chunks of Dean's existence.

White, burning light blotted out the suffering soul's vision, and demons that turned to look from all over the abyss were blinded.

Laughter bled into screeches, and for the tiniest moment human souls eased.

Pain stopped. Fear stopped.

The angel burnt his mark into Hell as he gripped Dean Winchester tight.

From somewhere unseen Alistair roared.

One mighty flap, and all the chains shattered into no more than white-hot, holy shards that rained upon the demons like blessed rain. They skittered and ran like the abhorrent creatures they were, and with nothing short of faith in his mission and love in his chest, Castiel rose straight up.

He blazed like a rising star through the chains and flames of Hell.

Lucifer bucked and protested, rising lashes of lava and wicked shadows along the walls of his domain.

But nothing touched the angel with the unconscious human safely in tow.

The last roars of fury faded as he shut his eyes.

Castiel burst out of Hell, bringing licks of flame at his heels.

Triumphantly he held his charge to him, safe against his chest now that he had time to readjust his grip.

His arms encircled the human, _his_ human, all the way to Heaven.

It was there, with approval from his brothers and sisters, he passed through the gates and marched to the only place he knew would suit what he was about to do.

* * *

Birds chirped.

Somewhere in the distance, beyond their carefree calls, the only other sound was a gentle wind, bringing a kite eternally bobbing up into the sky.

Dean cracked both eyes open before slamming them shut.

Everything ached and burnt. Pieces of himself he didn't know he had until that moment screamed, and the pain was so great he was unaware of everything, even his own head tipping back to release a cry of absolute fear and suffering into the calm Tuesday around him.

Castiel knelt, bowing over the other with both hands on the human's shoulders.

He didn't speak, Dean wouldn't be able to hear it.

He simply focused, letting loose the warm coils of Grace from inside himself.

White tendrils of light reached out, ever-so gently running over the Winchester's body.

It took time.

Hours upon days, where Dean did nothing but scream and writhe and weep.

But Castiel held on. He listened to the sounds that broke his heart, and poured more and more of himself into the other.

It was only when he could barely breathe that he drew away.

He had exhausted himself to a dangerous point, but the job was done.

Dean was saved.

Every memory had been carefully restored. From his earliest recollections of Mary teaching him to walk, to the final moments before Lilith smiled and the first drops of pain and Hell consumed him whole.

The shards of soul and skin and bone that had been lost to Hell were restored, at the cost of the angel's very self. He panted. His body, mostly a collection of energy compacted into a size that could best handle Dean's form, rolled onto it's back.

Wings sprawled out and flattened into the waving grass.

Dean took his first painless breath.

He was unconscious, as much was clear by the silence.

Castiel smiled.

He had done it. God's direct will.

But more than any completed mission, he felt whole.

From the moment his Grace had first touched Dean, repairing the mangled body before the soul, he had felt empty. Some part of the hunter had taken him in, needing him to be whole again. But now, as he stared up at the beautifully blue sky, he felt some part of himself missing.

Hesitantly, before Dean could wake and possibly protest, he reached out. One hand grazed the other's arm, from welted shoulder to limp fingers.

He felt whole again. And that horrified him.

Castiel withdrew. He waited, adjusting to the odd feeling.

Over time, he attributed it to his low Grace. He was simply feeling his own strength inside the human, repairing the soul from such a damaged state.

Once they were both back to full strength, surely he would be fine.

But he never was.

Castiel never felt whole again.

Not when Dean woke, blearily question where he was while Castiel rested.

Not when he explained, flustered as Dean interrupted to comment on his form.

He had warned the hunter not to look, but Winchesters were naturally stubborn creatures.

So he had flinched as Dean stared at him, all white and glittering like some collection of crystals cast under a star's fire, without bursting into flame or more agony.

They spoke, however awkwardly.

Dean didn't buy that he was in Heaven, but Castiel didn't push it. He knew the hunter wouldn't recall their meeting, and some part of that saddened him.

But regardless he explained, over and over, about everything.

About God, and his command to bring Dean back.

He told the hunter he was worth saving, and so he had been.

He told the tale of how he harrowed the other from Hell, though this subject made Dean visibly uncomfortable.

Castiel talked and talked and talked, more than he ever had with anyone in his long life.

And finally, when the eternal Tuesday had stretched on for long enough, he rose.

"Come, Dean." He spoke solemnly, and the hunter complied.

They stood, side by side, as the world faded.

"Wait." Dean beckoned as they reached the edge of Heaven.

To Castiel, it was a wide expanse beyond the gates that broke open like a cloudless sky overlooking Earth. He wondered what Dean saw, as supposedly humans would see whatever they considered most welcoming.

"What is it, Dean?"

"What about you? You're just gonna throw me down there and watch, or what?"

Castiel paused. What _was_ he going to do? He'd been instructed simply to pull the other from perdition, and restore all that had been lost. He wanted to watch the other though, now that it was brought up. He doubted he would be able to though. Heaven had much work to be done for every member of the garrison.

"I will do as I am commanded." Castiel said flatly, taking a step further to the edge.

Dean grabbed at him, his shoulder, and kept his feet rooted in place.

"The hell, man?" The human spat in disapproval. Castiel twitched at the choice of words.

"You can't just toss me down there and expect whatever daddy wants to just.. _happen_."

"That is exactly what I expect, Dean. Because that it what faith _is_."

They stood in silence. Dean refused to move or let go, and no part of Castiel wanted to change that.

As long as that hand was on him, he felt whole.

"This is just too much." The hunter eventually whispered.

"Frikkin' angels, and God, and all this.. faith bullshit.." He backed away, letting go and stepping towards the gates. Castiel sighed to himself, shaking his head.

Of course to Dean the motion was no more than the glittering shimmer of reflecting shards and near-blinding light.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Castiel spoke as he moved towards the other, fingers lacing around the man's shoulder. Dean seemed to wince slightly at the sensation of the human-sized hand pressing against the welt on his arm.

"But there's no more time. You need to go, now."

He opened his mouth to protest as Castiel moved forward, over the edge where he drug Dean down with him.

They fell for short seconds before the impact of the earth knocked the wind out of Dean.

He gasped and squirmed, feeling no pain bust struggling against the force of the ground regardless.

From somewhere far out of reach, Castiel watched.

He watched Dean claw his way winded and shaken out of the ground.

He watched the human, fully reborn on earth with his soul shimmering as brightly as it had before his death, and hoped against all odds he would see the other soon.

And oh, what a painfully beautiful web God weaved.

How ironic he would get his wish, only to end up in New York, looking out into the dark downtown neighborhood that fell into such a sinful disarray that he wondered if God truly existed at all.

He had wanted Dean Winchester alive, there was no arguing that.

But sometimes Castiel wondered why _he_ was alive, always at the other's side, suffering quietly and wishing the hunter would reach out and touch him just one more time.

It was selfish, and wrong, and just as he had feared Dean wanted no part of it.

So he sat alone, returning to that moment he had stepped into Hell, so full of righteous faith and determination.

In that moment and the ones following them, he had no fear or doubt.

No loneliness, or pain, or all the other terrifying things humans held in their hearts.

Before Dean, he had been a soldier of God.

Now.. now, he was in love.

_And Castiel understood there was no greater pain than loving someone who would never love him back._


	4. Fights In Denial

A/N: Don't own the characters.

I think.. I like writing Dean and Cas arguments best. I always disliked the fics where Cas acted like a kicked puppy when Dean showed his ass.

We've seen evidence in the show that Cas has more of a spine than that, and either I'm not reading the right things or there just needs more StandingUp!Cas in fanfiction.

Anyways,

* * *

"**No!" **The word bellows out like a boom of thunder. All at once the demon charging Dean is gone, somewhere across the room with rays of blinding light searing out his eyes and wide open mouth.

For a brief moment, things are quiet.

Dean's ears almost ring with the angel's shout, and where once he had been alone on a common task to look into the whereabouts of the Colt, now he was with company and down one demonic threat.

"Dean." Cas said tightly the second he rose to his feet from expelling the demon.

A blink of an eye ago it had been far too close to the hunter with a knife in hand. Dean had been jumped, which normally was no big deal. But yet another argument had split the brothers up. They had long since made up, but Sam was at least half a state away and unable to help with what was supposed to be a routine look into a possible lead. However, Winchester luck was rarely that cut and dry and as Castiel turned on his heel and got into Dean's face the air shifted from adrenaline of danger to that of a different nature.

"What are you doing? He nearly killed you." The angel's hands fisted at his sides. His jaw tightened and his shoulders curled up together, like someone had ran an electric current through his veins, tightening every single one of them as he glared down at the hunter.

Dean stared up, startled and trying to catch up to the moment.

He hadn't seen Cas in... what? Months? It felt like more. So much more. Years, almost. Maybe it had been one, at the least. Dean had gotten used to thing being just him and Sam, that was for sure.

To anyone else, seeing the person that had been plaguing their dreams for weeks upon months would be a blessing. To finally see the form you'd had ticking away in the back of your mind with the chant of "Is he safe? Is he ok?" would be a blessing.

And such things were met with smiles and sighs of relief.

But all that came out of Dean's mouth was, "Yeah? Well if he had it wouldn't have been any of your damn business." He didn't back away from the angel this time. Dean shifted, getting up in Cas' face even more than the other already had, leaving barely more than an inch between them.

Cas glared, but there was more to the sharp decline of his eyebrows than simple anger. There was hurt, and fear, and the strongest scream of "How could you say that?" that any face could ever display.

But either Dean didn't see it, or didn't want to. He snarled, and ripped away from the shared space.

Across the room, far out of reach, was his knife. He snagged it and slammed it back into his belt a little too hard, slicing his thumb slightly. He hissed, pressing the split skin to his lips before turning to glare back at Cas, who was looming with the same mixture of fury and pain in his eyes.

"Well?" Dean spat as he moved his finger to his shirt, where the weak cotton soaked up what it could.

"You gonna poof again or what? Cause I got work to do and I don't have time to waste on you."

There was so much pain writhing just under his dumb mouth. Dean's chest was splintering into fragments of bone and sinew as he spoke, roaring the words at the face he'd almost started to forget. But the plains of Castiel's features seemed impossible familiar as he glared at him, taking in the blazing blue eyes and tightened jawline.

In that moment, Castiel was very much an avenging angel, and not for the first time in his life Dean felt like nothing short of some vile demon.

"I'd hate for you to waste your time." Cas spat just as balefully as Dean had directed all of his words. Even if turnabout was fair play, the tone cut deep. Dean flinched as Cas vanished, leaving in no more than a flurry of feathers, just as he had arrived.

Trying to fight the pain away with grimaces and snarled, Dean huffed once to himself before stomping straight to the door. The lead was false, as much the demon ambush had said, and with that obstacle eliminated he had no further business in the abandoned house.

Ignoring his still-bleeding hand for the time, the hunter marched straight out to the impala, which he drove with his clean hand while leaving the other in his lap.

Outside the edge of town where the house rested he found a roach motel. Slamming his baby into park in the parking lot, his free hand wrestled in the back seat for the first-aid kit in the floor.

Just who the hell did Cas think he was?

He just went AWOL for at least five fucking months, then he just shows up for giggles to make Dean look like a girl before leaving?

His hands shook with anger badly enough to prevent the bandage from cooperating.

In a fight of frustration Dean kicked the door to the impala open, threw the bandage away, and marched across the gravel ground.

He didn't want to stay here. Couldn't, really. Not with the fury burning through his veins. But he'd told Sam to meet him here, so he was trapped with nothing but anger for company.

Cas had a lot of nerve to ditch him after that day. He hadn't answered a single call, even when Dean had damn near begged for his help with this or that, or simply offered to talk to him about what had been said. The hunter assumed he was off pouting and looking for God, which was like trying to find a good pop song- impossible.

Despite that, Dean had gone on. He'd called Sam when things got to be too much, and over time the two had gotten the band shakily back together. By now things were smoother. They searched for leads and busted monsters on the way, sometimes together and other times apart. They were one another's greatest weaknesses, but at the same time an unbeatable strength. And splitting their time apart and together helped immensely.

But now, riled and pent up, Dean just wanted to drive.

Fuck Cas, and the other angels. Fuck Heaven and the apocalypse. He just wanted to drive, with the radio on full blast, only stopping for burgers and booze. Maybe a woman or two.  
Because he was fucking straight, and no dream or idle thought would say otherwise.

He hadn't dreamt about Cas the same way he hadn't wanted to talk about the whole situation in a way that maybe involved some introspection that proved painful.

Dean sure as hell hadn't realized that maybe -just maybe- he felt a little more than friendship towards Cas. Why the hell would he really put himself that far out there for some angel prick who left.

Just like everyone else.

By the time Sam pulled in to the crappy motel (because Dean's taste in rest stops was so classy) he felt exhausted. He'd been driving for hours, which was normal but still tiring, and to make it all worse he still had to drag his things inside whatever room his brother had bought for the next few hours.

Hopefully he could knock out and rest before the idiot decided a new job was in order.

Lately Dean had been racing from job to job without fail. There was no time to think, or sleep, both of which seemed to vex the older Winchester to no end.

Slowly Sam made his way to the front counter, where a man in a loose tank top and backwards ball cap directed him to room 55B. Up stairs.

Sam groaned, thanked him, and drug himself back to the car for his bags. Deciding he could live easily with just one (the one containing his toiletries) he marched up the small metal stairs on the side of the long building and found 55A.

It was dead quiet when he unlocked the door, and the smell that smacked him in the face upon opening it said why.

Dean was passed out in one of the beds, surrounded by his usual friends with the empty brown necks and black labels.

Sam sighed, lugging his small suitcase inside and tossing it onto the bed.

Shutting and locking the door carefully, he paused in the middle of getting out his sealed bag of toothpaste and brush to stare at the window.

A sigil of dried blood rested on the glass, guarding them from any angelic eyes.

This wasn't unusual, considering Micheal was still trying to ride Dean's ass to D-Day. But lately Dean hadn't really bothered with the wards. In fact, he'd almost seemed to avoid using them when he could.

Sam, being Sam, came to the only logical conclusion while trudging off to the shower.

Yet again Dean was acting more like a girl than he realized, with the pouting and refusing to even see Cas. Though of course all the empty bottles meant the other had tried to see Dean.

With a shake of his head, Sam turned the shower on full hot and sighed heavily. He didn't want to get involved in his brother's mess. But if he was going to act like this (and thus be a surly hungover dick come morning) something needed to be done.

He made up his mind between the oddly-scented shampoo and brushing his teeth with the toothpaste he actually trusted, that before bed he would call Bobby. Sooner rather than later, his brother would have to sort out his little feud.

_Hopefully_, Sam though before falling into bed with maybe two hours left to rest, _tomorrow would prove productive._

_Yeah.. And maybe Lucifer would just give up and go back to Hell, to._


End file.
